Eagle's Story
by Illuminorz
Summary: One of the few stories by the members of 'The Nest'. Eagle is the sharpshooting punk of the group, and his story follows suit. See his place in the group and his story of his life in the Wastelands. M for few F-Bombs.


Fallout 3 - The Nest - Eagle's Story

Never blink. Never take your eyes off the target. Watch the Wasteland for anything that moves. Feel the burning, searing heat on my skin. Feel the thirst rise. See the monsters. Shoot the monsters. Never let one go past your sight, never let one get close. See the Super Mutant? Boom. Headshot. See the Centaur following said Super Mutant? Boom. Another headshot. See that random guy in the blue jumpsuit way over there?

Yeah. You know the drill.

Beautiful, ain't it? Not exactly the lifestyle my folks planned for me, but I'm sure they didn't account for a few nukes to drop. Ma never wanted me to live the life I have now, and dad surely wouldn't give a flying fuck. But hey. Like the most of us, they never saw it coming. I was born in the Wastes, and I'll die in the Wastes. But at least I'll take a few Super Mutants and Mirelurks down with me before I bite it.

Name's Eagle. It ain't really my name, but good luck trying to figure it out 'cause I don't know it either. Everything about my life was kind of a big blur, all I remember was talking to some guy at one point and then BAM! Bombs. I'm surprised the nukes didn't kill me to be honest, and I sort of wished they did. But I'm alive now, so I guess that's all that matters.

I live with a few other people in a small haven from the wasteland. We help each other out by either scavenging for essentials, fighting off mutated freaks, or utilizing medicational methods to help the injured. Me? I stay well hidden and pick off foes from a distance. I've got the best accuracy here, and I prove it very well. My rifle may be old, but its still a force to be reckoned with. With a pretty big scope and longer barrel, I stay well away from the fight while still being the best shooter, not to brag.

We all have one thing in common here. We all suffered from the nukes, and we all have lost something. Most of us lost family in the explosion, or in the radiation. Others lost their entire life thanks to a few too many hits to the head. The head of the house, some tall dude called Pheonix, gave us all code names for one reason or another. Maybe for quick identification in heated battles? Meh. Which makes me wonder why I got to be the Eagle, 'cause I know there are birds better suited for what I do.

I mean, I sure as hell don't look like an eagle. I used to have a bright blue mohawk, but it lost its glory and now kinda hangs on my head like an emo guy would have it. The color faded too, but good luck finding hair supplies in the wastes. I keep a shade of black around my eyes just to look awesome. I was kind of a punk in my day. And by 'my day' I mean around five or so years ago? I dunno. Anyway, so I don't look like an eagle. I have a dark green leather vest, combo'd by a dark red scarf around my neck. Black leather gloves with buckled bracers. Baggy camo pants with a belt of bullets hanging from them. And big, heavy combat boots.

Rock on mother fucker.

So he called me Eagle. Big deal, at least now I got a name. Can't fucking remember what I had for a name to begin with. Lost my parents at like, 12 years old or something. And from there 'till now, at age 19, I wandered the Wasteland. Now that I'm all situated here in The Nest, I was able to relax for the very first time. And then I reflected on my past, but I couldn't remember. Nothing. Nada. Zippo. Zilch. Doesn't really bother me, why would I want to remember what happened when I was that young and vulnerable huh? Though it hurts when the others bring it up or talk about their lives.

Well, kinda. But I get a decent kick out of hearing their stories. That kid dubbed Sparrow fought off something called a Deathclaw on his way to Megaton last week. The beautiful Raven made a Raider wrap his mouth around her machine gun barrel before blasting his head off. And that sneaky Swan claims she had a record seven Talon Company Mercs decapitated. All I get to say? I shot a damn Brahmin in the head out of sheer boredom since everything gets killed before I get to shoot it.

Barely anything happens out here. When we're not fending off Ghouls and Raiders, we just chat and listen to Galaxy News Radio. Sure, we hear alot of things that are happening out there. Megaton's bomb was deactivated, Vault 101 had been opened for the first time in decades, Underworld death rates going up, it's a living hell out there. Shit. I just kid around with Sparrow about Three Dog and crack jokes that aren't really all that funny.

Anyway. So that's my place in the Wasteland. Sniping things at a distance while relaxing in a somewhat decent building. Sure as hell beats walking randomly out there, looking for something we know we can't find eh? Whatever. Eagle out.


End file.
